


Stranger Things Could Happen

by sidewinder



Category: Homicide: Life on the Street, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Casual Sex, Chance Meetings, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: “First time here?”“First time in Baltimore. Folks up the street said this is where cops get treated right.”





	Stranger Things Could Happen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ApexOnHigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApexOnHigh/gifts).



“I do believe I am calling it a night, Munchkin.” Meldrick tossed his bar towel into the sink in a resolute declaration of defeat. “Ain’t nobody here but us chickens, and this bird here is heading home to roost.”

John let out a weary sigh as he leaned against the bar, stretching out his spine as he did so. “I hear you, my man. I’m not far behind you at this rate.”

“Mm hmm. Ronnie’s finishing up in the kitchen, if anyone is in need some eats before closin’ time.”

“I’m gonna help myself to a late dinner if there’s any of that gumbo left.” John had carried a bowl out from the kitchen earlier to one of their few tables tonight, and it sure had smelled tempting. After many months of bad hires (and several regrettable cases of food poisoning) they’d finally found a cook who knew his way around a kitchen.

Now, if they could spread the word and drum up enough business to keep this money pit from going belly-up.

“All right, man. Take it easy. I will see you tomorrow,” Meldrick said.

“Bright and early.” Meldrick waved goodnight as he headed for the door. John returned to polishing glassware and checking over the day’s dismal receipts.

It was a quiet Wednesday at The Waterfront—atypically quiet even for midweek. That would have worried John more if not for the dreary, wet weather outside. He’d come to learn that rain was always bad for bar business, and there wasn’t much any of them could do about Mother Nature’s whims and foul moods.

Their other partner in this not-so-lucrative endeavor, one Timothy Bayliss, was nowhere to be seen tonight. But Timmy, well...who knew what Bayliss got up to, most of the time. John was fine not being privy to the details. The last of the evening’s dinner guests had cleared out and he was left with a pair of lovebirds drinking Irish coffees, and a regular wino half-asleep in the corner, in need of a cab home. At this rate, John would be ringing the bell for last call well before midnight. Might as well get himself some extra sleep while he could afford it.

John usually volunteered to work the evening shift after clocking out from the precinct. Tending bar gave him a chance to unwind and listen to other people’s problems, clear out his mind from the murder and mayhem that occupied his thoughts during daylight hours. It also helped distract him from the loneliness of his generally otherwise empty apartment. But when things were _this_ quiet? He might as well be _at_ home, relaxing with some favorite music or a book before getting needed sleep.

But he’d give it another half hour or so. Time enough to eat and get rid of these last few stragglers. Who could say, there might be a final wave of traffic after the nearby restaurants closed for the night.

You never knew, in this business, and hope forever sprang eternal.

* * *

Sure enough, after finishing a bowl of gumbo and contemplating a shot of something stiff before locking up, the bell above the front door jingled and a new customer stepped inside.

John gave the man a quick once-over, for he didn’t recognize him as any of their regulars. He looked rather out of place compared to their usual clientele, as he shook the rain off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the door. He was a man perhaps in his mid-thirties, African-American, of solid build though a little shorter than John’s own six-one height. A du-rag covered his head and he wore casual but not inexpensive clothes—in truth it was reminiscent what some of the bangers wore around town, which put John slightly on edge. They didn’t usually get that kind of trouble here, not being so close to the police station.

For a moment John wished Meldrick was still around, so he wasn’t by himself behind the bar. Then again, John never worked here without his Glock in easy reach under the counter, just in case.

The man looked over at John, who nodded in greeting. He took a seat at the bar and started contemplating the bottles on the shelf. So far, so good. John walked over and offered a polite, “Evening.”

“Evening.”

“What can I get you?”

“A Seven-and-Seven sounds good right about now. You know what? Make it a double.”

An easy enough order. John went to work filling a Collins glass with ice and a generous pour of Seagram’s, then asked the stranger, “First time here?”

“First time in Baltimore. Folks up the street said this is where cops get treated right.”

John raised an eyebrow—while also chastising himself for rushing to judgement based on appearances alone. “You’re police?”

“I know I don’t look it,” the man replied, with a sly smile that said he knew exactly what John had been thinking. It wasn’t a critical look but a knowing one. John began to relax. “I work Narcotics, out of Brooklyn,” he added by way of explanation.

“Ah.”

“Took the train here this afternoon to pick up a fugitive on a drug warrant, guy I’ve been workin’ up a case on for six months. He fled the state, then got busted on a DUI.”

John snorted. “The brilliant criminal mind at work.”

“Tell me about it. But hey, I’ll take stupid if it lands me a closed case.”

“I hear you on that.”

“Mm hmm. Problem is, there was some screw-up in the paperwork. Judge didn’t sign off on all the forms that needed to be John-Hancocked before I could take him home. Now I gotta wait until the morning to get this guy on the train to New York.” The man shrugged and then took the drink John slid toward him. “Figured, why not kill some time here before finding a hotel room.”

“Well you’ve definitely come to the right place. John Munch, Homicide,” John introduced himself, extending a hand in greeting. At the man’s curious expression, he elaborated, “Bartending is my hobby. Murder police is my daytime job.”

“That’s cool. Odafin Tutuola. You can call me Fin.”

Fin had a warm handshake and an even warmer smile—one that brought out dimples that softened his otherwise tough-guy appearance.

John was suitably intrigued.

“Nice to meet you, Fin. Are you in need of some nourishment to go with that drink?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it. I haven’t had anything to eat since the train earlier today and that was a lousy overpriced sandwich. What do you recommend?”

“Well, our special of the day is gumbo, and I can verify it is truly special and worth sampling. Otherwise I recommend our meatloaf, or the famous Baltimore she-crab soup.”

“She-crab soup,” Fin replied without hesitation. “I don’t want to eat heavy this late and it’s somethin’ new to try. I always like...getting a taste of what a new town has to offer, y’know what I mean?”

“I do indeed,” John said with a nod. He also started wondering what other “tastes” this Fin might have in mind to sample this evening.

For he could be wrong, but his career was in large part based on being an astute observer of human behavior. And there was something John thought he sensed in Fin’s words and body language that made him wonder...

Ah, but he could also be looking for things that weren’t there on a slow and quiet evening like tonight. A night when he was bored, feeling  restless...and hadn’t had a satisfying lay in longer than he cared to think about. But he put such thoughts aside and said, “She-crab soup, excellent choice. I’ll be right back. Um, if anyone comes in...”

“I’ll keep an eye on ’em,” Fin told him, raising his glass in salute. And even if the man hadn’t been police, John had a feeling he could trust him to do just that.

“Thanks.”

Suddenly this quiet evening had become quite a bit more interesting.

* * *

“This soup _is_ real good, man.”

“I’ll pass the compliment along to our chef tomorrow when he’s back in the kitchen.”

John had moved out from behind the bar to take a seat next to his new friend Fin. The wino and the two lovebirds had been shooed out at last, the door locked, and that left the two of them alone to chat. Fin was on his second drink and John was mellowing out with a glass of wine while sharing stories of the Murder Police of Charm City.

“Sounds like a rough town,” Fin said after John had finished telling the tale his latest successful closed case.

“Like any other, I suppose. But this is where I grew up, and there’s plenty to appreciate about this city once you look past the drug wars, the racial tension, the deep-rooted political corruption...”

“You make it sound so appealing.”

“Not to a big time New Yorker such as yourself, I imagine.”

Fin snorted at John’s observation and scooped up one last spoonful of soup. “So how’d you end up in the bar business while working Homicide?” he asked, opening up a packet of oyster crackers to chew on.

John shrugged. “Everybody needs a hobby. And for some reason I’ve always wanted to own a bar. It just seemed...kind of romantic, I suppose.”

“Sounds like you spent too much time watchin’ old noir films.”

John grinned. “How did you guess?”

“Hey, I’m a detective, too, don’t forget. I’m skilled at figuring people out.”

John wondered what else Fin had figured out about him so far—and his interests beyond criminal investigation and bartending.

“Ain’t it a lot of work to run this place on top of having a full-time job?”

“Sure. But we’ve got a daytime manager, waitstaff...and besides, I’ve got three ex-wives to keep paid off and financially satisfied. That’s not easy on a cop’s salary.”

“Shit, man. I gave up after one.”

“It’s tough keeping a marriage together on this job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. ’Specially when you get married for the wrong reasons.”

John was curious to know more about that last statement, but Fin didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. It was only...the more they talked, the more his initial intrigue heightened. Cops from New York usually put on attitude about how they were the big time, the hot shots, compared to little ’ol backwater Baltimore. Pembleton certainly carried a certain arrogance about his New York City roots. Then again Pembleton could be an arrogant S.O.B. no matter what the subject at hand. Fin was a lot more easy-going and friendly in comparison.

Friendly in a way that increasingly suggested he might even be interested in more than this kind of casual conversation.

John had been around long enough to recognize the little clues and tells. Eye contact lingering a few seconds too long, gradually moving closer into each other’s personal space... Between men it was more subtle and cautious than flirting with a woman. Most didn’t want to make the mistake of misreading a straight guy who was simply being extra-friendly.

And despite three marriages, John was far from entirely straight, nor narrow. A youth spent embracing all that the “free love” years had to offer had opened his mind to many things, including the pleasures to be found in enjoying all types of bodies. And there was no denying he found Odafin Tutuola’s body attractive, in the ultra-masculine way he appreciated if he was going to enjoy the sexual company of a man.

John took another sip of his wine, contemplating the appealing possibilities. Then he thought of how conversations about marriage could drag things down, so he returned to work-related chit-chat. “Narcotics... That’s got to be a tough scene.”

“It is. Brutal shit sometimes. But I like it. I do a lot of undercover, see. Sometimes months building up a new identity, and it’s sweet. Last one I came out of, they set me up in _nice_ pad, penthouse with a view on Central Park. The bathroom was as big as my regular apartment, y’know? And playin’ someone else for a while... sometimes it’s a nice change of pace from having to be yourself.”

“I can imagine.”

“You always been Homicide, or you ever work any other divisions?”

“Nope, Homicide only, since I got off the beat. And I’m happy where I’m at.” He glanced at Fin’s empty bowl, the pile of empty cracker wrappers piled up on the side plate. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

“Maybe another drink. Something different this time, though. Uh...how about a shot of Johnny Walker on the rocks. Then I’d better figure out where I’m gonna get a room for the night.”

John slid off the stool and went to pour another drink for Fin. A shot before hitting the road meant now was his time to be bold, before losing the opportunity. So he casually mentioned, as he slid the glass toward his guest, “You know, back in the day, this fine establishment actually served as a hotel for weary travelers, not just a watering hole. We never bothered updating the rooms upstairs and most are being used for storage right now, but we do have one room that’s kept clean and ready for guests.”

“Oh yeah?”

John nodded, came around from behind the bar. He leaned against it, standing close to where Fin sat. “With the three of us owners being cops, working across the street, it seemed handy to have the crash space nearby. Either for ourselves, or a fellow detective...or a friendly stranger who might need a bed for the evening.”

“Well, I can’t say I don’t appreciate the offer, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all. And it’ll save you from having to brave the elements outside.” The rain was still falling, harder now than before.

“And you’re all right leaving a stranger here alone in this place for the night?”

John shrugged. “If I can’t trust a fellow officer of the law, who can I trust? Although, if you preferred some company in lieu of being alone...” John dropped his gaze, made sure he had Fin’s full attention. “That opportunity could be open to discussion as well.”

There it was—a direct offer. Or at least, as direct as he dared make it without further confirmation that he’d been correct in reading Fin’s signals. He watched and waited for Fin’s response, ready if needed with a quick joke to deflect the situation if he’d been wrong.

Fin’s reaction was slow, and cool, and not one of outrage nor offense. He swiveled on his bar stool toward John, tilted his head and seemed to open up his body, relax his posture. “Can’t say I’d turn down that possibility.”

“No?”

“Nuh uh.” And Fin’s eyes now traveled up and down the length of John’s frame in a way that made the older detective’s cock twitch in anticipation. “Told you I like to get a taste of what a new city has to offer. I wasn’t just talkin’ about the food.”

His gaze landed back on John’s, stayed there, and so John took the opportunity to at last move in for what he wanted—his _own_ taste. This one of Fin’s lips, which opened readily to meet his own as he leaned in close.

And there it was. That delicious rush of adrenaline at first kissing someone new, breathing in his scent, the heat of his body...

“Mmmm,” Fin rumbled against his mouth, the excitement mutual. John felt his arousal rising quick to the occasion.

And damn, if it wasn’t for the large windows exposing them right to the street outside, John would let Fin take him right here and now, slammed up against the polished wood of the bar.

But _that_ wasn’t exactly prudent.

John forced himself to pull away, placing a hand between them for a brief pause. “Just let me finish closing up for the night, then we can take this upstairs.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m gonna take a leak while you do that.” Fin stood and, before he let John go, pulled him close with a grab to the ass for another kiss. He was already being possessive. John liked that. Liked the hardness he felt pushed up against the front of his jeans before getting shoved away, a touch roughly. “Don’t take too long.”

“Don’t worry, not planning on it,” John said under his breath. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by.

* * *

Fin had not come to Baltimore expecting any kind of real fun or excitement. In fact he’d cursed his luck at ending up stuck for the night in this town thanks to a stupid bureaucratic oversight. He’d figured at most he’d grab a drink, something to eat, and crash for a few hours at whatever cheap hotel would fit his expenditure budget.

But hell if he wasn’t glad that things had turned out so very differently.

For there _was_ something about being in a town where nobody knew you—not even by one of your undercover identities—that could be freeing. Exciting. Put him in the mood to take risks, a big chance, because no one would have to know a thing about it come morning.

A chance like spending the night with a curiously attractive man—one whom he was currently following up the stairs for what he hoped would be a damn good and hard night of fucking.

Because this guy John looked like he could take it. Fin appreciated that. From the moment he’d walked in this bar, he’d been intrigued by what he’d seen.

The way this John Munch moved, all smooth and limber and strangely graceful. The way he looked in his tight black sweater and jeans. His dark eyes beneath those pretty, long eyelashes and heavy eyebrows. And he seemed smart, too, not the typical macho dick-type Fin knew in the NYPD or the men out for a quick trick in the bars and clubs of Manhattan.

He wasn’t Fin’s usual type, but then again, he didn’t seem to fit any easy type he’d encountered before.

That made Fin all the more excited for what might come next.

“It’s not the Ritz-Carlton,” John said as he unlocked the upstairs room, “but it’s clean and the bed’s surprisingly comfortable.”

“Think it’ll do fine.” Fin took in the sparse surroundings as John flicked on the lights. The wooden-framed bed, a matching dresser and nightstand...some boxes of glassware stacked up in the far corner. Not that he particularly cared about the decor—what he was interested in seeing more of was standing right behind him, closing the door.

Fin didn’t waste time once John turned to him. He moved in swift, pushing John against the door while he went for a kiss. John didn’t resist, though it took him a moment to relax against Fin’s aggressive attack, for their mouths to fit together right.

But when they did, the kiss became electric.

Fin murmured his approval against the John’s lips, breathing him in, feeling him up through his clothes. Not just skinny but with some lean muscle there, that was nice. Up close he smelled of a more expensive cologne than Fin had first bargained for. Fin also felt a more considerable bulge in his pants than he’d expected as well. He wouldn’t complain about that, either.

John groaned as Fin rubbed that bulge with one hand, his lips moving to explore his jaw and neck, sucking to taste his skin.

“Like it...on the rougher side...do you?” John asked, his words broken up by heavy breaths and gasps.

“You got a problem with that?” Fin could take it easier, if need be. Slow it down a bit...but damn, he was eager to get in those pants.

“Not so long as I can walk in to work tomorrow without raising too many eyebrows.”

Fin chuckled, appreciating the sense of humor. His mouth returned to John’s, kissing him longer now, deeper. He could taste wine on his tongue, wanted to drink it down...but only as an aperitif to what he planned on drinking next. “Man, I gotta get a taste of this,” he said, playing with the button of John’s jeans.

“I’ll voice no objections to tha—oh, _fuck_ ,” he cursed as Fin popped that button and slid loose the zipper. A shimmy of the hips while they went back to heavy kissing and those jeans were sliding easy down his narrow hips. John shifted about to step out of them, the close friction of their bodies only serving to ramp up Fin’s arousal.

He was getting so hot he needed a break to step away and pull off his top, toss it out of the way. John took the cue to remove his own sweater, kick off his shoes, and deposit his glasses on the nightstand. That left him standing there in just a white undershirt and tented boxers—which shouldn’t have been so hot, but there it was. Fin moved in again, wanting another kiss, wanting to get a better feel for that package waiting for him in those shorts. John’s cock felt long and lean, like the rest of him. And his underwear was already damp to his touch, pre-come leaking out of the eager tip.

Fin was eager, too. He enjoyed seeing how fast and hard he could get a guy off with his mouth—especially if it would help relax him for what he wanted to do to him next. He dropped onto his knees, pulling down John’s underwear as he did so. That cock sprang out at him and Fin gripped it by the base, getting it right where he wanted to take a first anticipated taste.

John cursed and groaned, louder than before. Fin licked and sucked in turn, taking his time to savor the feel of it in his mouth. He hummed with admiration to sense it swelling, pulsing in response to his actions. When John tried to thrust deeper into his mouth, though, he pushed him firmly against the door with his hands, keeping those slim hips where he wanted them.

For _he_ was in control, here. No one else.

He could feel John submitting to him, relaxing, softening, even as his cock only seemed to grow even harder. Fin started sucking him off with more serious intent than teasing with licks and slow sucks, working now to open his throat, see how deep he could take it. Any discomfort faded as he heard John’s increasingly desperate cries. He loved knowing he could make a man beg for relief like this.

People talked shit about how it made you weak to get on your knees for another man. But that’s all it was, bullshit. _He_ was the one making a man beg for more, beg to come, and only _he_ would be the one to decide when that would happen. He could stop at any moment—and he would, too, if he could sense it coming sooner than he wanted it to happen. He knew the tricks, knew where to press and hold to take things down until he was controlling the action again. And he played that game for some time, making John desperate for it, pleading for release, until _he_ was the one ready for some more. And only then did he show John exactly how deep he could take him.

That extra swallow did the trick in an instant.

Salty, thick heat exploded in Fin’s throat as a stream of obscenities burst forth from John’s lips. Fin chuckled, again, when he could, when he pulled back and moved to get up off annoyingly stiff knees. “Not too bad,” he teased, toying with the bottom of John’s t-shirt. He looked cute all red and flustered, naked except for his socks and this thin top.

“Not bad? I think I heard the bells of Heaven ringing. And I’m a Jewish atheist.”

“Let’s see what else I can get ringin’ once you get yourself on that bed.”

They made their way to it, John shedding his final bits of clothing and lying down, stretching out temptingly to his full length. Fin finally undressed properly and asked, “Like what you see?” He stood at the edge of the bed, toying with his cock as he saw John’s eyes lingering there.

“Mmm hmm. And time for some fair play.” John propped himself up enough to get closer to Fin’s cock, take it in his mouth and start sucking. Fin sighed, the pleasurable sensations too great to ignore. He didn’t want to come this way, but he more than welcomed the warm-up. He let John do his thing, admiring how he looked with his mouth full of dick and doing such a commendable job of taking him deep. Fin only used his hands once or twice to force John to stay where he was, assert his control of things. And when he could feel his body getting closer than he wanted to release, he forced John to stop. It took willpower, but pressing on the tip of his cock he could calm his responses a bit, hold off for what he most wanted.

“Lay down and roll over,” Fin told him. John followed those instructions, lying on his stomach. Fin got onto the bed, climbing over him, hearing John suck in his breath as their naked flesh met. That always felt so nice. Fin licked at and sucked on the nape of John’s neck while he ground against him. His cock found a warm spot, rubbing against his ass, and Fin could barely wait to get inside of him.

But he needed to get the man ready for that first.

“I grabbed some condoms from the bathroom downstairs,” Fin said, pausing to bite an earlobe, “but you got any lube up here?”

“Mmm...in the nightstand...top drawer.”

Fin slid over enough to reach for it without having to get up. He found the bottle of slick gel that looked like it had seen more a number of uses before. There were some extra condoms there, too, so he grabbed one of those instead of fumbling around for his pants on the ground.

He dropped the wrapped condom on the bed and concentrated on slicking up his right hand fingers with the gel. John took his first finger with ease, moaning in appreciation as Fin slipped it into his ass.

“You like that?”

“Mmm...”

“You want some more?”

“Mmm hmm...”

“You’d better. My dick is gettin’ hungry for that ass.” Fin added a second finger, plunging, stretching. He loved how John responded by pushing toward him for more instead of tightening up in resistance. “Feels like this ass is hungry for some dick, too.”

“ _Fuck_ , yes. Want it...mmm...fuck me hard with that big dick.”

Fin squeezed more lube right onto John’s hole, went for three fingers this time, stretching him even wider. He wanted that ass badly but he also was enjoying teasing this out, watching that skinny body squirm under him.

He couldn’t hold off any longer. He pulled away to rip the condom packet open, slide it onto his stiff cock. He added a little more lube and stroked himself to aching full hardness before settling again over John, directing his cock right to that slick opening.

“Here we go...oh yeah, _mmm_.” The head of his cock slipped in readily enough, though he still felt a bit of resistance that took a while to subside. John whimpered as he gradually pushed in deeper—no matter how much prep you did with your hands, it was always different getting an actual dick up in there. “Oh that feels good,” Fin complemented him. “So fucking good.”

“Oh... _fuck_...” John sucked in his breath as Fin pushed in deeper. But it wasn’t long before Fin was able to sink balls-deep into that sweet ass, and he held himself there for a while, just enjoying the tight, hot embrace.

“Mmm...I think this ass loves my dick.” He started thrusting, slow at first, savoring the friction as he moved back and forth, deeper and then almost all the way out. John gasped every time he did that, and especially when he withdrew completely, then pushed in hard, all the way in with one swift thrust.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Fin moaned, having to do that again. And again. A few more times, and then he grabbed John by the hips and pulled him up into a crouched position onto the bed. “Fuck you hard now, like the dirty cock slut you are,” he promised. “You want that?”

“Yes! Fuck... _please_.”

Fin got him at the right angle and then pushed in, pumping hard in this position that let him get even deeper, thrust with greater force. He gave it the best he could for as long as he could, loving John’s cries and curses, wishing he could fuck this ass this way all night.

But eventually his control gave out. He felt it start in his balls and his belly, warmth spreading through him until it burst out in one blinding flash of heat and pleasure.

So, so good. And over way too soon. Fin got in a few more solid thrusts as the orgasm began to subside, before he got too soft and risked having the condom slip off. He then pulled out carefully, slipping it off and making a solid shot for the waste basket across the room.

“Damn,” he sighed, flopping onto the bed and pulling John with him. “You all right?” he asked distractedly.

“Feel like I’ve been fucked by a jackhammer,” John said, flopping against him.

“That good or bad?”

“Good, I think. _Fuck._ Could use another drink.”

“Too bad it’s all downstairs.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” John sat up, went to the nightstand and opened the bottom drawer. From there he retrieved a pint bottle of whiskey. Fin laughed as John opened it, took a long draw, then handed it over.

“Nice. I should fuck bar owners more often.” Fin sat up enough to take a solid swig, then handed the bottle back. John took another shot, then put the bottle away on the nightstand. He looked at Fin, a question there in his unfocused gaze. Fin answered it by pulling him close for a kiss, slow and deep. Lazy, this time, with the comfort brought by needed release. But still with a hint of desire, a promise that with a little rest and time that passions could be awakened once more.

“You could fuck this bartender any time you want,” John said.

“I could definitely go for some more of that, in a while. Gotta recharge the batteries first.”

“Same. Let me get the lights.”

John climbed off the bed while Fin pulled up the blanket, got himself warm and comfortable under the covers. The room went dark and soon John joined him there, slipping in close, his naked body pleasingly hot.

“Comfy?” John asked.

“Mmm hmm.” Fin wrapped his arms around the man, kissed and licked at the sweat on his neck. He rarely spent the night with one of his sexual partners, but this actually felt kind of nice for a change. Not even just because of the circumstances.

In no time at all he was fast asleep, body as relaxed and satisfied as his desires.

* * *

John awoke the next morning with a dull headache and stiff neck—along with some soreness elsewhere that made it a bit difficult to get moving. But move he eventually did, fumbling for his glasses as he blinked against the daylight coming in through the dust-covered window.

 _Shit_. Judging by the bright light from outside, not only had yesterday’s stormy weather passed but he was already late for work. If anyone had tried to reach him at home, wondering where he was, that call would have gone unanswered. He supposed he needed to get his clothes on, freshen up the best he could, and put on a smug face about wearing the same suit in two days in a row.

He’d make up some story about it, easy enough. Most of his coworkers shied away from hearing about his amorous adventures, which was fine as far as he was concerned.

John noted he had woken up alone, but that was not any real surprise. He hadn’t expected Fin to hang around; hadn’t he needed to get some paperwork taken care of first thing in the morning, before heading back to New York? Something like that. It hadn’t been the most memorable part of the evening.

 _Ah well._ John gathered his clothing from where it had landed amidst old boxes and barroom supplies. He was brushing clean his pants when he noticed the note left on the nightstand, written neatly on the back of what had been Fin’s bar receipt.

 _Sorry to run, thanks for last night. Look me up if you_ ’re ever _in NY. —Fin._

John smiled and tucked the note away in his wallet. Chances were that would never happen—them crossing paths again, New York or otherwise. But he respected the sentiment, and he’d save the note as a memento of a particularly enjoyable evening.

* * *

“I need to hit the head.”

“No.”

“C’mon, man. I gotta take a leak!”

“Shoulda thought of that while you were still in lock-up. Now you can hold it until you’re booked at Rikers in a couple hours.”

“I can’t hold it that long! This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Cruel and unusual punishment is me having to listen to your shit all morning. Now shut it, or else tryin’ to hold it is gonna be the least of your problems.”

Clayton Downard scowled at Fin and kept fidgeting in his seat, but said nothing more. Which was a relief because Fin didn’t want to hear it, and he didn’t think the rest of the passengers on this Acela car—passengers who had already unnerved enough to see a man in handcuffs led on board—wanted to hear it, either. Not for the two hours they had to go to get to Penn Station.

Fin, seated in the aisle seat, looked past his prisoner out the window as they pulled out of the station. _So long, Baltimore,_ he thought, watching the city skyline move past at a gradually increasing speed. At least he had memories of the night before to keep him mentally entertained and distracted from present company, that and the morning newspapers.

Part of him regretted leaving this morning without saying goodbye to John. But really, what was there to say that he hadn’t written in his quick note? They’d had fun (and not merely once—waking up in the early hours before dawn, they’d gone for a second, more leisurely round of pleasurable activities). Chances were they’d never cross paths again. Life usually didn’t play out that way and it was better not to make promises you had no intention of keeping.

Besides, this line of work wasn’t meant for balancing with anything resembling a “relationship”. And being gay? Doubly so. It was better to stick with casual fun, and not take chances on anything more than that.

Still, he checked his jacket pocket for the matchbox he’d taken from the bar before leaving. _The Waterfront_ —he’d remember that, keep the memento. Just in case.

“What’s that?”

“Nothin’. Mind your own business.” Fin put away the matchbox, patted his pocket.

You never knew, right? After all, stranger things could happen.

 


End file.
